


Larry Dimmick is not a fucking idiot.

by fakebodies



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Angst, Homophobic Language, M/M, everyone's dead and nothing works out at all, if you've read any of my other fics then u know this is gonna be fucking sad lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:53:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakebodies/pseuds/fakebodies
Summary: (he is, oh god he is)





	

If there's one thing Lawrence Dimmick is not, it's a fucking idiot. He knows the kid is too good to be true- he's got to be. Joe trusts him, though, and it isn't Larry's place to say anything. This isn't his job, these aren't his guys, and if the kid's just a little too pretty to be a criminal, well, Larry'll just keep his mouth shut until the others pick up on it too. He thinks Blonde knows, but he trusts Blonde about as far as he can throw him. Eddie trusts his father's judgement and Brown has his head too far up his ass to notice much of anything. Larry isn't really sure about Pink to begin with, and Blue is a goddamn enigma. It looks like he's on his own with pretty-boy Orange. Shit.

Larry continues to be convinced this kid is too good to be true. There's something about him that doesn't sit right with Larry, and if the kid's funny and charming (he is, fucking hell, he is) that only proves Larry's point. If Mister goddamn motherfucking Orange, with his too-perfect hair, too-perfect smile, too-perfect personality, is some kind of rat... Larry'll keep his trap shut. Joe's smart, Blonde's smart, and Pink's too high-strung not to catch on eventually. Someone else will figure it out too. Larry can keep playing his game, and Orange can keep playing his.

Turns out they might've been playing the same game, because one night after they've all met for drinks, on their way out to the car, Mister too-perfect pretty-boy Orange pushes him against the door and kisses him. Larry's only thought before he starts kissing back is _Oh, he's a fag too_ , and if the pieces still don't fit right, Larry's stopped caring. They fit well enough and Orange really does have a too-perfect mouth, and honestly Larry still doesn't quite know the rules of whatever game they're playing. If they end up back in his motel room, Orange's mouth around his dick and Larry's fingers tugging lightly at that too-perfect hair, Larry figures he just passed Go. He's really fucking enjoying his two hundred bucks.

They keep ending up at Larry's place, and part of him knows that's shifty. He knows Orange is probably hiding something, and if someone were to point out the wedding band around Orange's finger, Larry'd just shrug.

"Huh," he'd say, "Never noticed that before."

He'd noticed. He'd ignored it. Orange never brought it up. Each time they pass Go, it feels a little less like two hundred bucks. Larry doesn't like getting shortchanged, but he isn't going to bring it up. Nobody else has caught on yet, and he's not content to stop this game before he knows all the rules.

On the day of the job, he still doesn't know all the rules. They're still playing, Larry's still getting shortchanged, and Orange is starting to look a little too clean around the edges again. When things go south, Larry forgets all that. He gets Orange and he keeps him safe, and if Orange is scared that's natural. What isn't natural is getting shot in the fucking gut trying to steal a car. All the blood around Orange has roughed up his edges, and nobody is too good to be true when they're panicking about bleeding to death. Larry holds Orange's hand, tells him his name, and tells him he'll be okay. Joe will get him a doctor to clean him up, and then he'll be back to his old self. He'll be okay.

Nothing is fucking okay. Larry comes back to find the cop coated in gasoline and Blonde deader than Orange. He really hadn't thought things could get much worse, but here they are. Then Eddie starts yelling and Joe shows up and things go hurtling past "worse" to "really really fucking shit." Larry pulls a gun on an old friend to protect the man he was certain was too good to be true, Eddie pulls a gun on him, and Orange hasn't stopped fucking bleeding. Of course he hasn't, he got fucking shot, but the pool is so big now. He's surprised the kid's even conscious. He's not that surprised when Eddie shoots him for shooting Joe, but he can't bring himself to give much of a shit. He pulls himself over to Orange, cradles his head, and forces a laugh. They'll have to do some time for this, now. The cops are on their way. There's a cop without an ear and fuck, that'll look bad, and Orange keeps trying to say something. Larry starts trying to listen.

"...I'm a cop..."

Oh, christ, there are those squeaky clean edges again. There's that too good to be true shine, through all the fucking blood. Larry stops listening, because shit, he was right. He was fucking right. Joe was right, and he shot Joe and he shot Eddie and fuck, Joe was right. Joe caught on, Joe played the game right, and Larry got sloppy with the rules. Do not pass Go, sorry fucker but you _have_ been getting shortchanged and there's nothing you can do about it now. The cops come bursting in and hell, he's going to die anyways, and he shot fucking _Joe_ over a fucking rat. A rat, the kid, Mister goddamn motherfucking too-perfect pretty-boy Orange. Larry knows how he takes his coffee, he knows what makes him moan, and he knows the kid is a fucking cop.

He never thought he'd cry over a cop, but he's crying when he lifts his gun and he's crying when he pulls the trigger, and if the cops are telling him to put the gun down, well, Larry stopped trying to listen. Lawrence Dimmick is one thing, and that's a fucking idiot.


End file.
